


Barefoot

by Mojanna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Romance, This was my first try ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mojanna/pseuds/Mojanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against his better judgement, Steve follows the sound of music up on to the roof. What he finds is more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barefoot

Steve Rogers pushed open the sleek glass window, coaxing a soft breeze in to his room in Stark Tower. It didn’t really help: the warm currents stirred the air in his stifling room, but still the last of the evening sun beat down through the polished glass on to his flushed face. Plucking at his damp t-shirt, Steve sighed and ducked his head to lean out of the open window. Having JARVIS was great and all - Steve couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around Tony’s technology - but he couldn’t help but think that normal air-cons didn’t go on strike. While Tony and JARVIS gave each other the silent treatment over their most recent fight, Earth’s mightiest heroes had been left to cook. 

The frenetic buzz of New York city drifted up to the open window, carried on the lazy breeze. Steve closed his eyes, letting the hubbub of shouts, car horns and wailing sirens wash over him like a symphony. He found the racket oddly comforting, but his sensitive ears picked out an alien sound, unfamiliar in the city’s usual soundtrack. Tensing automatically, Steve leaned further out of the window, the metal pane cutting in to his clammy hands.

If he held his breath, he could just make out the gentle strains of classical piano spilling down from above. Reassured that this was not a threat - he doubted even Loki would serenade them before an attack - Steve relaxed a little, pulling absentmindedly at the hem of his t-shirt. Maybe it wasn’t a threat, but it was still an anomaly. Burning with curiosity, Steve glanced quickly at the empty hall beyond his bedroom door before pulling himself up and out his open window pane. 

This was just the kind of reckless behaviour he was constantly berating the other Avengers for, Steve thought guiltily, wiping a sweaty hand on his jeans before reaching up to wedge his fingertips between the metallic panes above. He pulled himself slowly up the side of Stark Tower, trying to stick to the window panes and ledges but often finding himself holding on with just his fingertips. His back and arms burned with the effort, and his fingers had started to turn numb. Again, Steve cursed his own idiocy, rolling his eyes at the thought of the nice, safe elevator on the other side of the tower wall. Who did he think he was, Hawkeye? The piano melody had lured him out and up before he’d stopped to think, and even now he wasn’t slipping back inside. The music was growing louder, and Steve pulled himself up the horribly smooth wall as though in a trance.

The music became clearer as Steve neared the roof, and he forced himself to breathe steadily as his arms weakened in relief. Spurring himself on for the last few metres, he muffled a groan as he stretched his cramping hand towards the roof. Latching on, he gathered himself to push upwards, only to wobble dangerously as his sneaker wedged between two panes. Steve ground his teeth, stifling a very unheroic grunt as he tried to jiggle his foot free. His fingertips grew slick with sweat, and squeaked against the smooth wall as he struggled to extricate himself. At last, his foot jerked free, and Steve stared down in dismay as his sneaker tumbled through the creeping darkness toward the blurred lights of New York. Cursing himself and gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up the last few metres of Stark Tower and collapsed in a heap on the roof.

 

‘Cap?’ Steve blinked open one eye, keeping the other buried under his aching arms. 

‘Natasha?’

She stood over him, silhouetted against the sunset. The dying rays of sunlight glinted off her flaming hair and outlined her figure in gold as she frowned down at him with her hands on her hips. Steve swallowed thickly, suddenly very aware of his sweat-soaked t-shirt and missing sneaker. 

He scrambled upright, ignoring the protests of his cramping muscles. Natasha stared at him expectantly, but Steve found himself suddenly mute, his tongue huge and clumsy in his mouth. Casting around desperately for an explanation, his gaze fell on a battered old CD player balanced precariously on the wall. The classical music was still playing; achingly beautiful strains coming from this ugly, battered old box. Natasha cleared her throat impatiently, and Steve jerked to attention, snapping his head back to face her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse and empty in the night air. ‘I followed your music.’

Natasha blinked, her eyebrow twitching in surprise. She let her gaze drop to his bedraggled sock, roaming pointedly up his body to rest on his bright red face. Bizarrely, he wished he had changed before scaling Stark Tower.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, nodding minutely. ‘That makes perfect sense.’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’ Steve stammered, cursing his own stupidity for the millionth time that evening. Of course it was Natasha; of course she’d be angry; of course it was none of his business. And now she was watching him with that inscrutable look that she so often had and he found that he wanted to, had to make her understand. ‘The music was beautiful and I guess I thought if I came barreling out of the elevator and interrupted it - you - I’d ruin it.’

‘And so you opted for collapsing over the rooftop wall. Much classier.’

Steve nodded miserably, staring down at his threadbare sock and wishing it had been Loki on the roof after all. Natasha was silent, and the classical melody blared out of the CD player like an accusation. Struggling to swallow, Steve closed his eyes against the headache threatening to burst in his temples. 

A feather-light touch brushed against his forearm, and Steve jerked his head up in surprise. The Black Widow’s lips were pressed together tightly, and her chin jutted forward in defiance. But a faint blush tinted her cheeks, and when she spoke her voice was low.

‘Would you like to see what I was doing?’

Steve nodded eagerly, too afraid to speak unless he changed her mind. Natasha nodded gravely and turned her back on him to walk away across the roof. 

 

Natasha’s steps were slow, resolved, and Steve noticed only now that she was barefoot on the cold stone floor. Her toenails had been painted a deep blue, but the varnish had been chipped and scraped. Her hips swayed in her cropped grey sweatpants, and her loose black tank top fluttered in the breeze and hinted at her famous curves. Steve silently thanked the failing light for hiding the blush spreading across his cheeks. He started to follow Natasha across the roof, but she called out without turning her head.

‘Stay over there, Cap. Don’t move. And don’t talk.’

Steve snapped his mouth shut, jumping to attention again as Natasha reached out to twiddle the dials of the CD player. The volume rose, and Steve recognised the sweet melancholy of Einaudi. Natasha spun to face him, and held his gaze as she started to dance.

Steve knew how well Natasha could move - he’d seen her tear through battle with so much power and grace that she put even superheroes to shame. In one-on-one combat she was even more hypnotic, wrapping and slithering around her enemy like an eel as they punched and caught at the empty air. Steve himself had trained with her on occasion, straining his neck trying to track her movements and never sure where to put his hands. Those sessions had always ended the same way: with Steve landing flat on his back and Natasha smiling down with equal parts amusement and boredom. 

Watching Natasha dance was on a whole other level. Steve gaped across the rooftop as she leapt and twirled effortlessly to the music. He had always thought of her as cold, shut off; seeing her now made his chest constrict. His heart throbbed and pushed at his rib cage, and he struggled to keep his arms from wrapping tightly around himself. She had said not to move, and this was one of the few things Steve had been sure of since waking from the ice: he was not going to move. He would never move again, if it meant he could watch her dance a little longer. 

Her flame red hair flashed through the dark, and Natasha leant back so far it nearly brushed the ground. Her chest heaved in her tank top, and her mouth fell open as she blinked briefly up at the stars before whipping upright and spinning across the stone floor. 

Steve couldn’t breathe. His chest was rising and falling but it was just going through the motions; he gulped at the air and tried to steady himself. He had to watch, to commit every movement to memory. He had never seen Natasha like this, and he knew it might never happen again. When she danced, she was so honest - so fragile and primal and desperately sad.

She was closer now, spinning lazily towards him as though caught in a current. Her eyes were closed, and her breath gusted out of slightly parted lips. Steve stood like a rabbit in headlights as she came closer, terrified she might bump in to him and shatter the trance that had settled over them. Natasha halted just in front of him, pirouetting quickly before coming to rest on her toes with her hands on Steve’s shoulders. He reached for her waist automatically, coming to his senses and stopping himself before he could touch her. His hands hovered awkwardly between them, the cool night air soothing his hot palms.

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, focusing slowly as she dredged herself back to reality. Steve stood frozen, gazing down at her as his hands reached longingly for her waist. She quirked an eyebrow and sank down off her toes, and Steve flushed hotly as he balled his hands in to fists at his sides.

The corner of her mouth twitched, and Steve held his breath as Natasha took one hand off his shoulder to reach for his hand. He cursed his clammy palms as her fingers twined around his own, pulling his hand up to rest on her waist. She raised one eyebrow and smiled - a cold, calculating smile that growled a challenge. Swallowing hard, Steve pulled his hand free, moving off her waist to catch on to her wrist.

Natasha stilled as Steve wrapped his hand around her tiny wrist, so small and delicate compared to his own. Watching her carefully and praying this was right, Steve raised her arm gently and brought her hand up to his still-flushed face. Steeling himself, he met her eyes as he dipped his head and lightly kissed her palm; an act of reverence on a windy New York roof. The last of the calculation slipped from her face, and Natasha tightened her grip on Steve’s shoulder before leaning to rest her forehead against his chest. She listened to his heart beating wildly, and thanking his lucky stars, Steve bent his head to catch the scent of her hair.

 

‘I should climb buildings more often,’ Steve commented as they both piled in to the Stark Tower elevator. 

‘Please,’ Natasha scoffed, ‘you need to leave the sneaking to Clint. You were very nearly Captain Pancake out there.’

Steve grinned down at her as he lifted their clasped hands to push the button.

‘The shared floor?’ Natasha asked disbelievingly. ‘Really?’

‘Sorry Ma’am. Where would you like to go?’

Natasha smirked and snaked her hand free, reaching out to push the button for Steve’s floor. He blushed automatically but kept his voice steady as the elevator swept down. 

‘Your floor’s closer.’ Natasha turned to face him, surprise and approval mixed in her eyes.

‘Don’t push your luck, Cap. You’ll have to scale a few more buildings before I invite you back to my lair.’

‘I only have one more pair of shoes.’

Natasha’s mouth twisted in amusement, and as the elevator dinged she grabbed a handful of his shirt to tug him out of the opening doors. They stumbled out in to Steve’s floor, colliding and clinging together hotly. As they staggered toward the bedroom, Steve kicked at his heel to remove his only sneaker, leaving it in a sad heap in the dark hall. 

‘Worth it,’ he mumbled against Natasha’s jaw, tracing his mouth around to feel her racing pulse in her neck. ‘You’re on to something with this barefoot thing.’

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Nuvole Bianche by Einaudi :)


End file.
